


(un)spoken

by hiuythn



Series: fuck canon (multiple times) [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam (Voltron) Lives, Allura Lives, Fix-It, Fuck Canon, Happy Ending, LANCE IS NOT A MCFREAKING FARMER, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), i have to do every goddamn thing around here, voltron season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 23:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17253746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiuythn/pseuds/hiuythn
Summary: And Allura says,"Honerva is dead."Or, I suplex s8 into the Earth's core. No mercy.





	1. if keith was a tree you know he'd be a pine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am gifting this to every single person who has ever watched vld ever

 

  

 

“What is this,” says Keith.

“I think it’s a cartoon,” Hunk replies. “Of us.”

Keith considers the screen before him. He scowls. “That is _not_ me.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“Who wrote this,” he demands, standing. “I need to talk to them. Hunk, tell me who wrote this.”

“Whoa, chill,” is the unhelpful response.

Hunk throws a handful of popcorn in his mouth—actual popcorn, because this is Earth and they have real, human food here. Keith still isn’t over it, all these months later. A couple kernels fall onto the cushions. Hunk picks them up and eats them anyway. Honestly, even if he hadn’t, Keith would’ve; it’s _real freaking food._

“I think it’s kind of flattering,” says Hunk.

“I’m wearing a _red jumpsuit_ ,” Keith growls, pointing an accusing finger at the screen. “I look like a race car driver.”

“It’s not all that different from your usual attire,” Hunk remarks. “You kind of have bad taste, man.”

Keith glares at him. Hunk just digs his fingers into the popcorn, watching the show avidly.

On screen, “Akira” is picking flowers. A cat hisses. And then it jumps. There’s a _knife_ in its mouth. Pidge yells out for the princess and Akira shouts, “Get down!” and then he—

“I just threw a _bouquet_ at a cat to protect Allura,” Keith says flatly. “A bunch of flowers knocked a cat out of the air. I did that. Me.”

“Nice aim,” says Hunk.

Keith stares, baffled and slightly offended on behalf of the real Allura, as cartoon Allura faints from a knife scratch on her arm. Akira wails.

Keith drops back onto the couch.

“Our Allura would’ve punched that cat into space,” he points out.

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

They watch in silence for a moment.

“You didn’t tell her about this, did you?” Keith asks.

Hunk grimaces. “No way, she’d be worse than you.”

“Yeah, because she’s not this—this _frail_ , and my hair does not look—”

The room is suddenly filled with the sound of Akira sobbing. Keith tunes back in to see him—himself?—running away at the pronouncement of Allura’s death. By knife wound. Why the hell is his character acting like—

“Oh god,” Keith says faintly. “The show thinks I’m in love with Allura.”

“Haha,” says Hunk, like it’s _funny_. “Yeah, that part is probably the most hilarious thing about this, and it’s already weird how you’re so smiley all the time. I don’t know where they got that idea. It’s like the showrunners have never seen you. Or heard about you.”

Keith sinks down until his head hits the back of the couch. “Why the hell am I in love with Allura?”

“Careful.” Hunk snickers. “Don’t let Lance catch you saying that. He might get the wrong idea.”

Keith winces, but not for the reason Hunk probably thinks he did. “How are you still watching this?”

“You know when something is so strange you can’t look away? Yeah.”

“But the show,” Keith repeats, because he really freaking believes it bears repeating, “thinks I’m in love with _Allura_.”

“You’re really bothered over that bit, huh.”

“I just—it doesn’t make sense. If they’re going to do that, it should be Lance, shouldn’t it?”

Hunk pauses. “Lance…should be the one you’re in love with?” he asks slowly.

Keith gets caught on an inhale and damn near swallows his tongue. He swears his vision greys out for a heartbeat, and he can’t tell if it’s terror or shock that scrambles his brain for three full seconds.

“ _What?_ No, I’m not—I meant it should be Lance and Allura. Who—” he gesticulates uselessly— “get together, or whatever.”

Hunk stills, a fistful of popcorn to his mouth. “You think so?”

“He’s pretty obvious about it.” And no, Keith does not sound bitter. He’s had too much practice with this. “Though I guess if the showrunners thought I smiled this much, they would’ve missed this, too.”

“No, I mean, about them getting together. For real.” Hunk turns to face him for the first time in this conversation. He’s oddly serious. “You think Allura would say yes to Lance?”

“Say yes?”

“Like if he asked her out.”

Keith frowns. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t she?”

Hunk stares.

“What?”

“Why do you think she’d say yes?” Hunk asks.

“Why do I—?” Keith sits up slowly. “Do you, uh…want a list or something?”

Hunk shrugs. “Do you have one?”

Keith is so glad he’s never been one to blush, because he…does have a list, actually. In his head. But he’s not about to let _Hunk_ know; the entire base would find out about his—thing—by the end of lunch hour.

“I just think he’d be good as a partner, that’s all.” Keith is the one to fix his eyes on the screen now. “He’s dependable, loyal. Good at reading people, providing for them. You know, stuff like that.”

“Partner?”

“Huh?”

“He’s a good partner?” Hunk clarifies, almost insistently.

“I—yes?” Keith side-eyes him. “Yeah, he is—would be.”

“Huh,” says Hunk, like he’s realized something.

“Why do you ask?”

The strange expression leaves Hunk’s face. He focuses back on the show, digging into the popcorn bowl again. “No reason. Only, Lance was planning on asking Allura out today.”

It’s almost a pride of his, how very little Keith does not react to this news. He doesn’t freeze, doesn’t jerk, doesn’t even blink. His heart might skip a beat, but Hunk can’t see that, and Keith has always been hard to read.

 

(except to Lance, recently.)

( _hey man_ —)

( _the black lion wouldn’t choose—)_

( _doesn’t he look bigger to you guys_ —)

 

“Oh?” Keith throws some popcorn into his mouth; it disguises the way his fingers threaten to twitch. “So, he’s finally found the courage?”

“Yup.”

“Nice.”

The show is still going on. Keith tries to tune back into it. Something about Allura not actually being dead, about a plan to trick Lotor and Haggar—and he can’t believe they made cartoons of their enemies. People who came close to killing them on numerous occasions. Keith doesn’t know what it says about him that he refuses to fully absorb that. If he focuses on the wonky animation, he can pretend this isn’t based on his life.

 

(he can pretend he’s not struggling to breathe evenly.

can pretend that his eyes aren’t burning.)

 

Cartoon Pidge is running around with a grenade, now. Akira yells to drop it. Pidge continues screeching.

“Do you think they’ll be good for each other?” Keith asks.

Hunk cocks his head. “Lance and Allura?”

“Yeah.” Keith rubs his fingers together, feeling the butter on his skin. “I’m just concerned as—you know, leader. I’m not like Shiro, I can’t immediately guess how this might affect our missions.”

“What would you do if it did? Like, negatively? Would you tell them to stop?”

Keith frowns. “No. Of course not. If they want it, that’s up to them. I just need to know if I have to plan ahead, compensate for this somehow. For the good and the bad. Do I?”

Hunk is silent, contemplative for a moment. Keith’s grateful that he’s thinking this through, because Keith knows he’s going to need all the help he can get with this. He’s never had to pay so much attention to team dynamics before he became leader. And this—Lance and Allura—is just something new and strange he’s going to have to keep an eye on.

Ordinarily, he’d have _Lance_ standing by his shoulder, furiously whispering in his ear about everything he’s noticed or thought, but…well.

Hunk’s not too bad.

“I think they’ll be fine,” Hunk says finally. “Lance wouldn’t let this get in the way of what we do. Allura, too. We all know what’s at stake.”

Keith chews his bottom lip. “Do you think they’d support each other? Keep each other grounded, and everything?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I can trust them to work it out, if they ever have a fight?”

“They’re both pretty level-headed, so I’m not too worried.”

Keith nods, decisive. “Good. I don’t want to have to step into something this private whenever things get rough. Thanks for the, uh, the advice.”

“No problem.” Hunk flashes him a smile. “It’s good to know you care.”

Keith nods again and stands, straightening his uniform. “I’m going to take a shower before the meeting. I’ll see you there.”

“See you.”

He’s just about to step out into the corridor when Hunk calls out. He glances over his shoulder.

“You should check in with them on this,” says Hunk, across the empty lounge, an arm slung over the back of the couch. “To let them know you’re okay with it, and that you trust them.”

Keith…really doesn’t want to do that. For so many reasons. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He feels Hunk’s eyes on him, through the windows, as he leaves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keith asks, _would they support each other?_ _Would they ground each other, stabilize together? Would they orbit for eons, like a planet and a sun, would they push and pull in equal parts, as the moon and her oceans do?—_ he asks for a reason.

He questions, because he knows what it feels like—

 

(like arguing, going nose-to-nose with _him_

going into a nose-dive in the lions with _him_

going diving in the pool with _him_ —)

(like soft words, like vulnerable words

like bedroom doors sliding open, like a hand clasped to his shoulder

like arms locked together, back-to-back, a fifty-foot drop beneath them

like _wait where are you going_

and _roger that, team leader_ —)

(like slamming a bayard into a console and feeling _him_ do the same

gasping when the power runs through his arms

up behind his shoulder blades

he can feel the wings form together

because together _they_ form the wings—)

 

—to have someone like that. He questions, because he needs to be assured that they could have that, too.

That Lance could be something to Allura like what he is to Keith.

Because if Lance is—if he could be that for her, and she for him, then…

Then Keith thinks they would be beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shiro keeps the meeting short and simple. He reminds them of their progress, of their goals. Standing at the head of the table, he looks so far removed from the excited, newly-promoted commander that left for Kerberos. He’s leading a war effort now, and while Keith couldn’t have seen that coming, it’s not much of a surprise in the end.

Keith has to give an update on Earth’s defenses at one point. Even now, he has to remind himself to sit tall and speak evenly as the weight of all these gazes land on him. He’ll never get used to it.

“Any updates on the Altean pilot?” Shiro asks.

“She hasn’t woken up yet,” Allura answers, brows furrowed. “But if we had more time, we might figure out who sent her.”

“We can’t wait,” Keith has to say. Her eyes turn to him; they’re troubled, uncertain. Two seats down, Lance shifts and Keith’s gaze automatically flicks over to him. “She could take another day, or a month, or longer.”

“I know.” Allura sighs. “Only, I don’t like not knowing what we could encounter out there. She represents something we haven’t accounted for. It worries me.”

“You’re not the only one,” Hunk pipes up. “But we can’t plan for everything. And ignoring all the people out there won’t help.”

Keith turns to Shiro. “We need to strike now. We can’t afford to give the Galra any more time to regroup.”

Shiro nods. “We’ll move forward with the plan, then.” To Allura, he says, “Earth will keep us updated on the Altean’s condition. We’ll know when she wakes.

“We depart at oh-nine-hundred hours tomorrow,” Shiro addresses the room at large. “Double and triple-check your equipment before you retire tonight. We’re not turning the Atlas around for any underwear you forget to bring.”

A smattering of laughter. Keith glances over his shoulder to see Mom and Kolivan exchanging bewildered looks.

“One last thing,” Shiro adds, a touch somber, “before I dismiss you. This is our last night here. The next bed you sleep in will be off-world. And it will continue to be so, for as long as it takes us to finish this.”

He pauses, gaze skimming over them. “So, your orders for tonight…”

Several people straighten up. The atmosphere is attentive, if solemn.

“You are to take some time for yourselves.” Shiro smiles at them, a small lifting of his lips but no less sincere.

“Be with the ones you love. You’ve earned it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keith waits until the room is nearly empty to say, “You’re getting pretty good at this.”

“Don’t,” Shiro groans.

“No, seriously.” Keith grins. “Your fly wasn’t even down this time.”

Shiro grabs for him, but Keith ducks away.

“You can run, but I’ll get you at dinner!”

“Yeah, if you can stop making out with Adam long enough to remember!”

“Keith, I swear to god—!”

Keith just tosses a wave over his shoulder, irreverent. He jogs up to his mom and Kolivan, waiting by the door. Mom flashes Shiro an apologetic look, before tilting her head at Keith.

“Kolivan and I need to send word to the Blade,” she says. She reaches out to tug Keith’s hair into some semblance of order. He lets her, refusing to feel embarrassed in front of Kolivan. It’s his _mom_. “But we’ll be there for dinner.”

He slants a look at Kolivan. “Both of you?”

Kolivan arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. Mom rolls her eyes them both.

“Oh, go on.” She pushes Keith out the door. “Change into something nice. See your friends for a bit.”

“Yes, Mom,” says Keith, not even sarcastic, because how could he be? He’s never had the chance to say it before.

He won’t admit it to anyone, ever, but it’s nice to joke like this. Nice to annoy Shiro, or let Mom fuss, or be allowed to send Kolivan stink eyes. It takes a weight off Keith’s chest, that burden of being the best all the time, of leading a group when he’s barely ever learned how to make friends.

He leaves the room with an absent smile on his face. The MFE pilots are gathered just outside and he exchanges nods with them. James is scrutinizing him again. Keith resists the urge to flip him off.

Leader of Voltron, he reminds himself, you’re the goddamn leader now, you can’t punch jerks anymore, not matter how fun it’d be.

He looks around, hoping to catch one of the paladins, see if they had anything planned right now. He spots Matt, who waves him over.

“Hey.” Keith accepts the hand Matt extends to him. They pull each other in for a hug.

“Saw you talking to your mom,” says Matt. “You guys planning on doing anything?”

“Yeah, just dinner. Shiro and Adam are coming too.” Keith makes a face. “And Kolivan.”

Matt laughs. “Now that’s a combination.”

“Tell me about it. It’s going to be the weirdest meal of my life.”

“Well, you let Shiro and Adam know that my family would be happy to see them afterwards.”

“Oh, did something come up?”

Matt waves a hand. “Nah, just a social visit, I think. Dad might want a couple of beers with them. You know how old men are.”

Keith nods. “I’ll let Shiro know they have an excuse to escape. And that you think he's a senior citizen.”

Matt laughs again. “Oh jeez, don’t—he got so salty when I asked if his hair was like that was because of the years when you guys were missing.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Matt starts to say something, but a familiar voice—nervous and endearingly shrill—pulls Keith’s attention to the far end of the corridor.

 “—wondering if, maybe, if you wanted, you could, uh, have dinner? With me?”

Through a gap in the milling crowd, Keith catches sight of Romelle and Allura, their backs to him. Hunk, standing by the wall. And Lance, face just visible in the gap between the two Alteans.

He’s still stammering away, face steadily growing pinker, and all Keith can think is, _it’s so freaking cute when he fidgets with his fingers like that._

And then his gaze slides over to Allura and the realization of what’s going on hits him.

Oh. So, it’s finally happening.

“Keith?”

He jumps. Matt raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. I, uh. I got distracted. What were you saying?”

“Just that there’s been a guy asking around if you—”

“—will cook for the whole family,” comes Lance’s voice, “and I thought you—”

“—would be free to…Keith, are you okay?”

“Huh?” says Keith. He opens his eyes. When did he shut them? “I’m fine. You said someone was looking for me?”

Matt frowns, unconvinced. But he says (and Keith wishes he would speak louder because Keith can _still_ hear Lance talking—) “Well, not quite, he’s actually asked me to see if—”

“—you could get away for a night. It’d be good,” Romelle says. “Clear your head, have some delicious food.”

“Mom makes only the best,” Lance jumps in. “You’ll love it, I’m sure.”

Matt is still talking, and through the bustle of the bodies around, Keith sees Allura open her mouth. His stomach feels like it’s on fire, suddenly.

“Tell you what,” he says, probably too loud, from the way Matt jerks back, “this guy? Send me his contact details and I’ll see if I can help him out with whatever it is he needs. But later. I just remembered I got some things I forgot to do.”

“Wait, Keith—”

“Gotta go, Matt!” Keith yells over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow!”

Keith rushes around the corner, so he doesn’t have to hear Allura say yes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lance finds him as the sun is setting.

Back in the castle, it had been laughably easy to hide away. When there were only seven people to a thousand-capacity ship, Keith could spend a whole day cycle wandering from room to room without bumping into another living soul.

The Garrison is a beehive.

Training rooms are always in use, canteens see constant traffic, and even the little alcoves and forgotten hallways have stragglers. And Keith doesn’t know this place well enough to find the truly secret spots.

Keith takes to sitting on Black’s head. Or in her, if the weather is bad. The view is always nice, and everyone is too scared to bother him up here.

 

(again, except for Lance.)

_(what are you doing up here, dude?_

_you know you can’t keep hiding whenever they ask you to make a speech right?_

_no, blowing up the podium wouldn’t get you out of this._

_now c’mon, I go an outline done. tell me what you think._

_what, you think I’d just let you go up there and mess up?_

_dumbass.)_

 

Keith hears Lance before he sees him. He sounds like he’s carrying pots and pans with him. Half of Keith wants to know why. The other, more dominant half is busy staring at a spot above and just to the left of the sun, trying to burn away the image of Lance looking at Allura like _that._

“You can be a real hard guy to find when you want to be, you know that?” Lance grumbles.

Try as he might, he can’t stop from glancing over. Lance’s voice will do that to him. “Hey, Laaa...nce. What—what the hell are you wearing?”

Lance’s thighs are wrapped in toilet paper. He’s got what looks like a _haramaki_ around his waist, with hooks stuck onto them. A pan and a ladle hang from it. On each of his shoulders is a pot, with a cape tied to the handles. On his head in a dented pail, and around his neck is—

“Is that—?” Keith rubs his eyes. “Are those sausage links?”

Lance blushes and ducks his head.

 _Fuck, that’s cute_ , a voice in Keith’s head sighs. He pinches himself.

“I know,” Lance groans, “I look ridiculous.”

“No, no,” Keith says, and this fight against his smile is a losing battle, “I think you look…dashing. Remind me again, which convention are you cosplaying for?”

“Oh, very funny.” Lance drops down beside him. His hand lands inches away from Keith’s. “It was Coran’s idea. Apparently, I need proper Altean courting vestments for my date with Allura.”

“Your date,” Keith repeats. He can’t tear his gaze away from Lance’s hand. “With Allura. Wow, I…congrats, dude.”

Lance flashes him a pleased smile. “Thanks. Hey, you wouldn’t mind being my reference, would you?”

“Reference? Like for a job?”

“Might as well be. As Allura’s primary guardian, Coran wants two ‘notarized certificates of commendation from reliable sources, to speak of my greatness.’” Lance removes the pail from his head. “And you’re pretty reliable.”

Keith is…baffled. Because one, he isn’t really. No one has called him dependable before; he was always too impulsive for that. And two, _references_? Truthfully, he’s kind of indignant on Lance’s behalf.

“Sources,” he repeats. “You—we’ve been in space together for two?—three years?” God, he’s lost count. Do those years in the Quantum Abyss matter? “I think he should know by now that you’re more than ‘great.’ And who needs references to date somebody?”

Lance shrugs, as if to say it sounds at all reasonable. “She’s a princess. And I’m just…”

He puts an elbow on the pail and props his chin in his palm. He’s leaned away. Keith tells himself not to follow.

“There’s so many customs to this. I have no idea what I’m doing. Does it even matter, which hand I use to pull back her chair with? Or which food I can or can’t invite her to try, if we’re just eating at my house? It’s not like Coran is coming to chaperone.” Lance cringes. “God, please don’t tell me I just jinxed myself.”

“…Your house?” Keith asks. “You’re taking her to meet your parents?”

“Yeah, Mom’s going all out for our last day.”

“Is your whole family going to be there? Like, your niece and nephew? Aunts, uncles?”

“Mhm. The whole group.”

Keith goes back to staring at the sun. He wraps his arms around his knees. “You have a big family, huh. She must be excited.”

“I hope so.” Lance glances at him. He frowns. “What’s wrong? Oh no, was this not a good idea?”

“No, it’s fine,” says Keith. He clears his throat. “I think it’s—she’ll think it’s great.”

“But what if she gets overwhelmed? Shit, I didn’t think this through,” Lance moans. “Dude, I’m going to ruin this before it begins. I’m going to spill food all over her lap and she’s never going to give me the time of day again.”

Keith extends an arm and nudges Lance with his fist. “ _Hey_. She’s your friend, first of all. She wouldn’t be that cold. Also, if she’s going out with you, it’s because she likes you, idiot. Let me ask you this, were you wearing the Altean courting shit when you asked her earlier?”

“Uh, no.”

“Were you cool about it? Or did you stutter and everything.”

Lance draws himself up. “I was totally cool.”

Keith just looks at him.

He deflates. “Okay, yeah. I stuttered.”

Keith nods. “And what was her answer?”

“She said yes?”

“So, what does that tell you?”

Lance squints at him. “That she…has no other prospects?”

“ _No_ ,” Keith half-yells, and he pushes Lance just enough to make him tip over with a squawk. “It means she likes you as you are, dumbass! She likes the lame, stuttering, _human_ mess that was the one to ask her out. Not this fake, Altean persona that Coran thinks you need to become.”

Lance levers himself onto his elbows. “You think so?”

Keith throws his hands up. “You can be really dense, you know that?”

“I am _not_. Who’s the one that took two weeks to learn how to do a cheer?”

“You seriously have no idea,” Keith mutters. “None.”

Lance raises his legs and play-kicks Keith in the side. “Rude. Stop mumbling insults at me.”

Keith grabs his ankle and pulls. Lance ends up on his back again. His leg is sprawled across Keith’s lap, trapped under his arms, and Lance makes a half-hearted attempt to free himself.

“Stop squirming. I’ll throw you off Black.”

“You called me dense.”

“You are.”

“Ugh. Ass.” Lance gives up. He goes boneless and turns his face towards the sun.

Keith takes in the sight of dusk landing warm on Lance’s cheekbones. His eyes are closed, his chin tipped up, as if to bask in the dying rays of today.

“You watching the sunset?” Lance asks, sounding sleepy.

“Yeah,” says Keith, following the line of Lance’s hair to his jaw, his chin, his lips. “Might be a while until I see it again.”

“Thought you’d be with your mom, or Shiro.”

“We’re doing something later, so no worries.”

“Mm.” Lance sighs. “I wish we didn’t have to leave; I’m going to miss this.”

Miss what? Keith wants to ask. Earth? The view?

…Would you miss me? Miss us? Here, like this?

“Me too,” he says instead. “But I think I’d miss it more if the Galra manage to get their hands on Earth. We’ve seen what they can do. Will do.”

Lance breathes in deep. He sits up; Keith has to let go of his leg when he moves to sit cross-legged. Keith ignores the chill when the wind fills up the spaces Lance leaves. He now sits facing Keith, eyes downcast. Keith aches with the need to pull him in, to tuck him under Keith’s chin and _keep_ him until the world stops crushing them.

“It was a close one, last time,” Lance says, subdued.

_(lance?_

_lance, come in!)_

“It always is. Which is why we need to win this, why we can’t lose.” Keith gives in to the ache and grips Lance’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss the food, and the sun, and the freedom. But I’ll gladly stay in space for _years_ , if it meant all this will still be standing when we come back.”

“ _If_ we come back.”

“What?”

Lance wears a grim expression. “I’m not stupid. I know some of us might not make it.”

Keith frowns. “Of course we will.”

Lance gives him a doubtful look. He shakes his head. “You know that’s why I finally had the guts to ask Allura out, right? Because Hunk reminded me that we’re not getting days off or breaks once we head back to the front lines, and I…”

“You…?”

“I’m the sharpshooter,” Lance says flatly. “At best, I can split a bamboo stick in half from a mile away while underwater and holding my breath.”

“That,” Keith cocks his head, “sounds really specific. Have you actually done that before?”

“Yes, on a dare. Not the point.” Lance drums his fingers on his knees. “It’s not that impressive, I mean. Like, when you take into account the auto-targeting systems and the biorhythm scanners, anyone can do what I do.”

“Lance…” Keith’s fingers curl into Lance’s uniform. “What are you saying?”

“It’s just realistic, you know?” Lance shrugs. “Out of all of us, I’m the most likely to—to not make it back.”

Keith stares.

“By that logic, neither would Hunk,” he says. That’s not what he meant to say, but he’s still reeling from Lance’s words.

Lance snorts. “What? No way, the guy’s got the most impenetrable lion. And he can engineer his way out of situations, or do his new diplomacy thing.”

Keith arches an eyebrow. “We’ve got Pidge for tech, and Allura for diplomacy.”

“Pidg—” Lance rears up, affronted. “What she does is nothing like what Hunk does! Their fields of expertise are not interchangeable, you can’t just _replace_ the guy like he’s an obj—oh, I see what you did.”

“Uh huh.” Keith smirks.

“Oh, shut up,” says Lance, but he’s grinning. He pushes Keith’s shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Gotta love it when you win my battles for me.” Keith shrugs. Lance rolls his eyes, but he’s pleased, really, he’s got that flush on his face again. “What brought this on, anyway?”

And he really is concerned, because while he knows that Lance struggles with self-worth, he thought it had simmered down by the time they reached Earth. Had been alleviated by the days and nights where the two of them huddled over maps and data packets, drawing out plans and contingencies for unknown terrain; by Keith leaving the team to Lance more and more as the weeks went by, trusting Lance to lead when he couldn’t; by Lance taking up a permanent residence behind his shoulder, hand resting on his bayard, scoffing when Keith likened him to a guard dog _(I think you mean guardian angel, because I think I’ve saved your life a million times over)_. He’d keep an eye on everything and anything as Keith led them into battles or alliances, would have a biting remark or a soothing reassurance for the other party in moments when Keith faltered. He’d pick up the slack, would cover for Keith physically or metaphorically. And sometimes he’d sneak a hand to Keith’s lower back as he does it. A comfort, an _I got you._ And Keith would lean back, maybe _(usually)_ , and think _message received._

And when they arrived on Earth…

When they stepped out of the transport shuttles, a hundred stunned gazes on them, Lance had spared them no attention. He’d stood with his helmet under his arm, the line of his body exuding a natural confidence and his chin tipped up. He’d scanned the crowd for his family, and when he found them—the grin on his mouth, the strides he’d taken to get to them…

Self-assurance had never looked better on anyone, in Keith’s opinion.

But now Lance’s spine curves over like it used to, before they became—partners, and Keith doesn’t care for it at all.

“I’m just. Afraid I’ll let you guys down,” says Lance, picking at the toilet paper coming off his thighs. “On most days it’s fine and I know it’s just me being an idiot, because I’ve made this far, haven’t I? I’ve proven myself.”

“You have,” Keith rushes to say. “You’re…yeah.”

Wow. Eloquent, Keith.

Lance nods, absently. “So I know I shouldn’t worry, but…” He clicks his tongue. “I guess that talk with Coran kind of shoved every doubt to the forefront. Allura’s a princess. She’s got magic alchemy superpowers and shapeshifting abilities and she’s practically the ruler of the rebel movement. I’m just a guy who can shoot really well. I’m not the type to win anything, not a war, not the girl.”

And oh, that urge to _keep_ burns blue in Keith’s throat. A silent, raging intensity. He wants to press his mouth to Lance’s and breathe that life back into him, let him taste what he means to Keith, let the fire scorch all the doubts to ash and give Lance a phoenix’s rebirth. He wants.

But he can’t. So his next words are going to have to suffice.

He moves to face Lance. Crosses his legs, too, and swings around until they’re sitting knee to knee. He rests his elbows on his thighs and locks eyes with Lance.

Lance leans back, blinking. “Uh…”

“I wouldn’t be here,” Keith states, “without you.”

It’s true, in every sense. He wouldn’t have gone into space without Lance. He wouldn’t have _stayed alive_ in space without Lance. He wouldn’t have come back to Earth without Lance—whether or not he had the choice.

“Keith…”

“That’s a fact. And you know it.”

Lance frowns, but he stays quiet. Attentive.

“We wouldn’t—we _won’t_ win this war without you.” Keith presses two fingers to Lance’s chest and keeps them there. Lance regards them with an odd expression. “We need you. We need Lance, the Paladin of the Red Lion. Lance, the one that’s always got my back. The Lance who knows _exactly_ who he is, and what he’s got to offer.”

Lance’s lips are parted. There’s a wondering sort of crinkle to his eyes. He slowly, intentionally wraps a hand around Keith’s two fingers, holding them where they are.

“You think so?” he asks, sounding more like the Lance that Keith knows.

Keith smiles and watches Lance mirror him.

“I know so.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tomorrow will be the last stand for them all.

And in that moment, sitting on top of Black and hearing Lance say all that about himself—Keith needed to do it, to say it. Because it could all end soon, and he didn’t want Lance to leave there that night, not knowing how important he is.

And Keith wishes he could be brave—could be like Lance. Could make himself vulnerable to the one person who has always caught his eye.

 

_(I think he’s the future.)_

 

He didn't say it then. He didn't want to bare his bones like that on a show. He didn't want it done with Pidge in between, with Hunk and Allura staring. If he was going to say it, he wanted it whispered in the space between him and Lance, and only them. He wanted it somewhere quiet, a place where Lance couldn’t mishear him, where Keith wouldn’t have to repeat himself, wouldn't be interrupted. He didn't want to share this with anyone else, didn't want it commodified, made for consumption. He wanted it to be for Lance.

Only ever for Lance.

And he’s glad he got his chance. If it turns out that they don’t all return—if it turns out Keith doesn’t…

He’s just glad he got the sunset with Lance. That he got the dusk, the beginning of the end. It’s enough, he thinks as he lies in bed that night. Stomach pleasantly stuffed, Kosmo curled on his feet, he’s quietly and utterly grateful for everything that he has.

He closes his eyes. And waits for the war to call him back.

 

 

 

 

_(be with the ones you love tonight.)_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pining keith was top notch this season, canon did good with that ngl


	2. omae wa mou shindeiru canon-san *w*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ladies gents and enby friends we are here today to yeet canon from our pores

_“—ladins, come in! Does anyone copy?!”_

Keith groans, head throbbing and neck aching. He rolls his head and opens his eyes to a darkened cockpit.

“Shit.” He sits up, vision swimming. “Black? You okay?”

No response.

He pushes ineffectively at the controls. “C’mon, wake up. We can’t sit here. Lotor’s going to kill us. Black?”

Nothing.

Keith growls and glances out the window, hoping the others are alright. What he sees has him rising half out of his seat.

Allura’s left her lion.

“What the hell is she—”

And that’s the Sincline, blaster aimed right for her as she flies towards Honerva. Keith curses, starts pleading with Black again, but then a lion _roars._

His heart skips a beat. It’s Red.

It’s _Lance_ , gunning straight for the Sincline and Keith is begging even more fervently now—

“Please, please, please, wake up, get up Black, we need to—”

A mecha slams Red back down to the ground and Keith yells, hoarse, barely noticing how the Sincline spears the mecha through, because now it’s descending on Lance and—

Keith slams a hand onto the nearest control panel, digs into his chest for that bond with Black that he knows is there, pulsing faintly and cries, _“C’mon wake up!”_

Black moves so fast that Keith is slammed back into his seat. He feels it more than sees it when they catch the Sincline’s attack with Black’s jaws. Her paws slide on the ground and Keith digs in with her, teeth clenched. He yells and jams the right controller forward. Black’s mouth cannon lights up and fires, barely grazing the Sincline. But it did the job; the Sincline’s retreated, if only for a second. Keith pants.

The Sincline twirls its blade. Set its feet, gearing up for an assault. Keith grips the controls tight and Black hunches, shoulders drawing up.

And then the Sincline falls.

Keith stares at the empty space for a second.

A crackle over comms: _“Keith…?”_

Black whirls around, head lowering as if to let Keith see into Red’s eyes, to Lance. He can’t, but Black must be running on more of Keith’s emotions than he realized.

“Hey, you alright in there?” Keith asks, breathless. “Black, run scans. On Red and Lance.”

_“The Sincline—Allura, is she—?"_

“It fell; something happened to it. And Allura is—” Keith directs Black around again. He pulls up the feed and zooms in and he opens his mouth to tell Lance that Allura is still standing and then he stops because—because—

The Allura on screen raises her hand to her helmet. The other holds a spear, drenched in—in—

There’s another crackle. And Allura says:

_“Honerva is dead.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She asks for Lance in the next breath, and through the feed Keith sees her head bow when Lance pipes up, forcing cheer into his voice, while Keith relays Black’s scan results to her.

“Nothing that an hour in the medbay can’t fix,” he says.

_“You’re certain?”_

“Positive.”

He watches as she walks over to the steps and takes a seat, head resting in her arms. It’s hard to keep his gaze from sliding over to the body lying only metres away from her. Oriande has stopped shaking, the towers and the main building gone dull now that Honerva isn’t channeling the quintessence.

_“Allura? Are you okay?”_ asks Lance. He’s managed to get Red up on one paw, but Keith sees the tremors in the back legs are still going strong. _“Did she get you?”_

Keith should probably fly down there and make sure she’s okay. He stays where he is; in front of Red.

_“I’m fine,”_ Allura mumbles. She exhales; it sounds wet. _“I’m sorry, Lance.”_

_“Uh, what for?”_

_“She made me choose.”_ And she really is crying now, it’s evident in her voice, how it cracks and wavers. _“She was holding the Sincline back. If I killed her, it would’ve killed you. She told me she would spare you if I—if I let her go. It was you, or her.”_

Keith’s blood goes cold. If he hadn’t gotten Black to move, Lance could’ve—no.

_“Allura—”_

_“But she was right there, Lance, and I love you—”_

Keith flinches.

_“—but I love everyone else too, and I couldn’t let her continue to do this, she’s drained four planets just a minute ago, but I could stop her here, once and for all, and I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do—”_

_“Allura,”_ says Lance. _“Listen to me.”_

Allura hiccups. _“Yes?”_

_“I’m proud of you.”_

It rings true, the sincerity of that statement. It quiets Allura’s sobbing, and even peripherally, Keith feels himself relax. That’s Lance, alright.

_“You did what had to be done,”_ Lance continues. _“And I would’ve done the same.”_

_“…Okay,”_ Allura whispers. _“Okay.”_

_“I agree.”_ It’s Hunk. Keith looks around until he spots Yellow lumbering to its feet. _“Not that I want you to die, Lance, but it’s_ Honerva. _Why would she spare one of us, even if you did let her go, Allura?”_

Further away from Yellow, Green shakes off the dirt and stamps her feet. Pidge is alright, too, then.

She joins in with, _“Yeah, it’d make her life easier to take us out; even one of us gone means no Voltron. She was probably just lying. I wouldn’t take her up on that bargain either.”_

_“See? You did fine,”_ says Lance. _“I’m not mad, Allura. This is war. Plus, Keith’s always got my back. He saved me from being a Sincline skewer, ha.”_

“Lance,” says Keith, aggrieved.

_“What? Not funny?”_

“No.”

_“Really? Not even a little?”_

Keith wacks Red’s ear with Black’s tail. “Don’t joke about dying.”

_“Ow! Alright, alright, I got it. Yeesh.”_

Keith huffs. He jumps down to the dais where Allura sits, the other three following him.

Honerva’s body is right there, at the edge of his vision. He looks at it just enough to confirm that it won’t be miraculously getting up again.

“Are you and Blue good to fly back to the Atlas?” he asks Allura, eyeing her carefully through the viewscreen. Up close, he sees a few scrapes she must’ve gotten when the Sincline split Voltron apart.

She cranes her head to find Blue, who rises easily enough onto her feet. Her low rumbles can be heard, even within Black’s cockpit.

_“We’re fine,”_ Allura confirms. She casts her gaze to the side. _“It’s just…”_

“The body,” Keith finishes grimly.

_“Yes, I—”_

“I’ll transport it,” he says. “Take care of it, whatever. You’ve done enough.”

_“You’re sure?”_

“It’s fine, Allura.” Black lowers her head and very _very_ gently nudges Allura to her feet. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

_“Alright,”_ she says, laughing softly.

_“Shit,”_ says Lance. _“Keith, on your six. One of the mechas are still standing.”_

Keith swears. “Allura, get to your lion. Hunk, cover her. Pidge, Lance, with me.”

_“Wait. Look.”_

“What?” Keith scans the sky for the mecha. He spots it hovering a far distance away, almost at the edges of the battlefield. “What’s it doing?”

_“Nothing, looks like.”_

Keith frowns. He sets Black’s paws firmly into the dirt and readies the mouth cannon. But he doesn’t fire. “Allura, you strapped in?”

_“Affirmative.”_

“On me, everybody.”

The low-level telepathic connection that links them together thrums as the paladins take up their spots beside him. Hunk and Pidge to his left, Lance and Allura to his right. Their lions growl, soft.

The mecha starts to descend.

_“Keith…”_ Red ducks his head, his rumbles growing louder.

“Hold,” Keith tells Lance. “We’re fine.”

_“_ We _, are five bruised and beaten lions,”_ Lance says lowly. _“We could take this guy on a good day, but I don’t think we’re in any shape to form Voltron right now.”_

“Just trust me.”

Lance sighs noisily, but Red’s growling subsides.

The mecha lands half a mile away; yet even that much feels too close for comfort. It raises its hands.

Black snarls.

The mecha drops its weapons. It kicks them away.

_“Did it just…?”_

“Yeah.” Keith cautiously pulls Black up from her threatening stance.

The mecha _kicked_ its weapons away. Dematerializing them would be one thing, but keeping them materialized only to put them out of reach means the mecha doesn’t plan on using them—doesn’t plan on getting close and waiting for their guard to drop enough to attack. Not that it can’t recall its weapons from a distance, but it’d take longer than rematerializing them. It’s the intent of the action that matters here.

Keith opens a comm link to the mecha. He hears a click; it’s accepted.

He waits.

There’s nothing but faint breathing over the channel, until Red starts growling again, which prompts the other to say, _“You killed Honerva.”_

Keith narrows his eyes, but it’s Allura that speaks. _“I did.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because,”_ Allura begins, once again poised and level-headed, _“she’s half the reason Altea was destroyed and the universe enslaved.”_

_“No. No, you’re wrong.”_

_“I assure you, I am not.”_

The pilot makes an enraged noise. _“She’s Lotor’s_ mother _, she’s our guiding hand, she said we were doing what’s right—”_

_“And you just believed her?”_ Allura demands. Blue steps forward with a snarl. _“Tell me, did you ever consider verifying her claims? Was there anyone old enough to recognize her as the wife of the Galra Emperor, Lord Zarkon? The witch that was responsible for every plan and attack he’s made through the centuries?”_

_“What—”_

_“She had you fooled the moment she spoke.”_

_“No!”_ The mecha hunches over, hands over where its ear would be. _“She’s Altean, she’s one of us. We were going to restore Altea because the Galra had destroyed it—”_

Blue roars.

_“Do not_ speak _to me of Altea,”_ Allura says, dangerously. _“Are any of you even old enough to remember our home as it was ten thousand years ago? No? Well, I do. I am Princess Allura, daughter of King Alfor and Queen Melenor, and_ I remember _.”_

Silence, on the other end.

_“Princess…Allura?”_ Abruptly, the pilot’s cockpit feed blinks to life on Keith’s viewscreen. The Altean is female, eyes wide and bloodshot. She’s shaking. _“Show me your face.”_

Allura’s feed wordlessly transmits, too. Her expression is hard, starshine eyes burning.

The pilot’s face crumbles.

_“We have a portrait of you,”_ she whispers. _“In the archives. Old. Tattered. Something a royal aid had snuck out as Altea fell. I—I spent years studying it; I would recognize your face anywhere.”_

_“What is your name?”_ Allura asks, after a beat.

_“Kir.”_ The pilot hesitates. _“I am Kir, your Majesty.”_

Keith very carefully exhales. This…could be good. You don’t sincerely use proper titles on someone you plan on attacking.

_“Kir,”_ Allura acknowledges. _“You know that I speak the truth of my heritage?”_

_“I do. I liked to—I studied the archives, before I enlisted.”_

_“Then you know that I speak no lies. Not about who I am, and therefore not of the events that have transpired.”_

Kir shakes her head. _“I just…I don’t understand. Lotor was missing and then Honerva came and said Voltron killed him. And that the Galra were responsible for everything else and—”_

_“My father created Voltron,”_ Allura interjects calmly. _“Did you know that?”_

Kir stops short. _“What?”_

Something beeps on Keith’s console: the Atlas is hailing them. He mutes his end of the feed with Kir and opens the other channel.

_“Sitrep,”_ Shiro commands.

“Honerva’s dead. She resurrected Lotor but his Sincline’s stopped operating since Allura killed her. The other mecha pilot is out of commission, too,” Keith reports, quickly, clinically. “Doesn’t look like quintessence is being gathered anymore, either.”

To his credit, Shiro takes in the information with hardly a blink. _“Check up on the Sincline. We need a body confirmation; don’t leave anything up to chance.”_

“Roger that,” he says. “Allura’s talking down the other mecha pilot right now, but we’ll be back onboard in fifteen, give or take.”

_“Good. Are your lions still functional? Any injuries?”_

“Bumps and bruises. We’ll be fine. What about you guys?”

_“Bumps and bruises here, too,”_ Shiro says, and Keith hears the relief and the smile. _“We’re retrieving the remaining mecha pilot right now; they got knocked out by that blast.”_

“Yeah, that was Lotor pulling a Sendak.”

_“Jesus,”_ Shiro whistles. _“Seriously, make sure he’s down for the count. And keep the comms open, we’ll be listening.”_

“Understood. See you soon.”

Keith tunes back into the conversation between Kir and Allura just in time to hear:

_“—she didn’t tell us any of this,”_ Kir says, pained. _“I don’t—I didn’t know Voltron was meant to defend. I thought it was…Lotor spoke of it rarely but always reverently. I thought it was a Galra legend. It—it made sense when she said both Voltron and the Galra were to be defeated. I thought perhaps Voltron betrayed him like the Galra did.”_

Allura has thawed. She only seems weary now, gazing at Kir with a centuries-old grief. _“You were misled. Honerva was older than most civilizations; I don’t begrudge you for believing her.”_

Kir bites her lip. _“Can I—can I ask…?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Why did you kill Lotor?”_ she whispers. _“He saved us.”_

At the mention of his name, Allura flinches hard. _“I…”_

“He was using your people’s quintessence to power his Sincline ships,” Keith interjects. Kir’s head jerks up, and he obligingly sends over his vid feed. She locks onto him, unerringly. “I travelled to the hidden colony. There was an Altean there named Romelle who told me of how she found her brother—Bandor, I think—after he escaped from Lotor’s research facility. Or the “sister colony,” as he called it. Bandor was the one to tell her himself what Lotor was doing.”

_“No,”_ Kir says, anguished. _“No, please.”_

Allura’s recovered herself as Keith spoke, and now she takes the opening, as he trusts her to do. That’s teamwork. _“Come with us. You needn’t stay, but Romelle is on the Atlas and you can confirm with her everything we have told you.”_

Kir wavers.

Keith holds his breath, meeting her gaze evenly as she looks between him and Allura. Silently, he flicks out a message to the other three.

In the next second, three more vid feeds are sent to Kir. She takes her time, going from one paladin to the next, searching their faces for something she can trust. Keith is beyond proud of the way his team refuses to show weakness.

By the time Kir comes back to Allura, Keith knows they’ve got her.

_“Okay,”_ she says. She shudders, like shaking off a weight they can’t see. _“I’ll come with you.”_

Keith signals for Allura and Hunk to escort Kir back to the Atlas. Those two are the best for de-escalation. He has Pidge tailing them closely, weapons armed, in case Kir tries something. Kir leaves her weapons on the ground; she might have even forgotten about them.

“You’re with me, Lance.” Keith hauls Black around and unceremoniously scoops Honerva’s body into the lion’s jaw. “We need a kill confirmation on Lotor.”

_“Oh, joy.”_

Keith checks Black’s mouth feed, confirming that the body has been automatically stowed away. “You can switch with Pidge, if you want.”

_“What? No, I was—”_

“I mean, I understand if you find this too gross for you.”

_“You think_ Pidge _won’t?”_ Lance scoffs. _“And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you anywhere near that guy and his death trap without me.”_

Keith smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

_“Wait.”_

“You can check the body, I’ll wait outside. Sound good?”

_“Wait, Kei—goddammit!”_

He’s crossed half the distance to the Sincline before Red catches up. He hip checks Black, who does it right back. Keith hears Lance huff a laugh and he smiles.

The Sincline lies supine in the dust. The two of them land as close as they dare, and Keith refuses to let them leave their lions until both Red and Black have scanned the ship twice over.

_“Nothing,”_ reports Lance. _“No traps, no outgoing transmissions or energy signals. Not even a single biorhythm. It’s completely dead.”_

Keith eyes the tail. “Okay, fine. But we’re securing that scorpion tail before doing anything else.”

_“We can’t exactly chop it up; it’s as impenetrable as Voltron.”_

“Strap it down then.”

_“What do you want me to do, have Red chomp down on it?”_

Keith pauses.

Lance’s vid feed opens. He’s scowling. _“No. I can’t believe you. You’re actually considering it.”_

“It’s a good idea.”

_“Don’t try to flatter me.”_

“I’d do it, but Honerva’s body is still strapped in here.”

Lance just glowers at him.

“Lance.” Keith tilts his head. “Please?”

Lance’s face spasms and he throws his hands up. _“Fine! Don’t look at me like that. God, this is so undignified for Red. I know, I’m sorry buddy, I can’t believe he’d do this to you, too…”_

Keith mentally pats himself on the back. Works every time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay, let’s head down.” Keith puts Black on standby, weapons at the ready. If anything happens, she’ll attack without him needing to control her.

Outside, the Oriande wind is mild, but it brings dust to their eyes. Keith activates his visor. But on second thought, lets it close off completely and turns on the oxygen supply instead. No need to invite any airborne pathogens that opening the Sincline might release. He motions for Lance to do the same. They begin climbing up to the head.

_“You don’t think he’s still in there, do you?”_ Lance grunts over comms.

“Where else could he have gone?”

_“I just assumed he like, disintegrated after we beat him. I didn’t think there was anything left for Honerva to pull back.”_

“You think she’s just been remotely piloting an empty ship?” Keith pulls himself over a ledge and reaches back to haul Lance up.

_“I’m hoping for it. Kind of don’t want to drag his decaying body back with us.”_

“Oh. Yeah.” Keith shudders. Lance pats his shoulder.

When they finally crest the last hurdle and are left staring at the cockpit beneath their feet, Keith is panting. His breath keeps fogging up the faceplate faster than the suit’s ventilation can clear it.

He kneels by what passes as eyes for the Sincline, feeling around the edges. “Do you see a latch somewhere?”

_“There should be. It’s standard. Unless Lotor was a paranoid bitch and thought being stuck in a cockpit was better than giving remote access to anyone else.”_

Keith wordlessly turns to Lance, who is crouched on the other side of the head.

_“Okay, so maybe that’s looking more possible the longer we spend trying to break in,”_ Lance says sheepishly. _“Great. What now? I don’t think we can get through this.”_

Keith grunts. “Maybe we can.”

_“Oh shit, are you gonna use your blaster form?”_ Lance leaps up, scrambling closer. _“That thing is so cool, I am so jealous.”_

Keith just knows he does an awful job of hiding his fondness as he watches Lance stumble around on a murder-robot. “No, hey. This thing is dangerous. Don’t get so close.”

_“Oh, okay. Is this far enough?”_

“No, back. Back, more—no further. No, just go—go stand on the breastplate.”

_“Oh my god, Keith, seriously?”_

“Yes, I’m serious. You could get hit.”

Lance grumbles, but it’s good-natured. He’s starts climbing while Keith spots him. He idly lets his bayard transform, wobbling under the weight of the blaster.

_“Okay, in position. You can let loose any time now, dude.”_

“Thanks for the permission.” Keith snorts. He aims and fires.

The Sincline takes longer to burn through than that ship with the robeast did. He has to stop once or twice to check if the blaster’s even doing anything. Finally, the metal gives way and a sizeable hole appears.

Lance clambers over, catching himself on Keith’s shoulder when he stumbles. Keith absentmindedly steadies him with an hand on his waist.

“I can’t see; it’s too dark,” Keith grumbles. “Do you think we have to go in?”

_“We’re gonna have to anyway, to retrieve the body. But let’s just shine a light on this before we jump right in.”_ Lance aims his fist at the hole, his suit emitting a low-level beam.

The light lands on a broken and darkened console. Keith follows it up to the controls, overtaken by—vines?—and shit. Those are hands right there, still gripping onto the controls. Almost against his will, Keith sweeps his gaze over the rest of the scene. He nearly vomits on the spot.

Lance’s hand shoots out and grabs his. The grip is kind of painful, but incidentally grounding to him.

_“Is he…?”_ Lance gulps. _“How are we going to get him out of that?”_

Keith can’t do anything but stand there. “I—I don’t. I don’t know.”

The same vines that have snaked over the interior have ensnared Lotor to his seat. They’ve practically fused him to the Sincline, made it his grave. Keith doesn’t look at his face, fixing his eyes to Lotor’s chestplate instead. The vines have warped in on themselves there, building and growing like a cancer cell.

Keith opens his comms. “Atlas, come in.”

_“Atlas here, what’s the situation.”_

“We…we’ve got a problem.” Nothing else comes to mind. He’s shocked silent.

Lance jumps in. _“Lotor is very much dead, but we can’t retrieve his body. I’m sending you the feed now.”_

A second of delay, and then distant curses and gasps filter through the link. There’s even the sound of bumps and stumbles.

_“Jesus,”_ Shiro breathes. _“That’s, uh. Shit.”_

_“Yeah. We could use some ideas.”_

“Maybe it’s better if we just let him stay here,” Keith says. “This is as good a resting place as any.”

_“Nuh uh.”_ Lance tugs on their joined hands. _“We shouldn’t leave that up to chance. We can’t bury him, so it should be a cremation. Because if we don’t do something, someone is totally going to try to resurrect him. Or use his corpse as a puppet to kill us. Again.”_

“You think that could actually happen?” Keith finally gets his eyes to tear away from Lotor, to meet Lance’s gaze with a dry look. “All our enemies are gon—”

Lance slaps a hand over Keith’s faceplate. _“Ah! Don’t jinx it! You never know. After everything we’ve seen, anything is possible.”_

Keith just gives him a flat stare from behind the hand.

_“Plus, I’ll feel bad if we just leave him to rot.”_

“He’s literally evil. I don’t think anyone would mind.”

_“Yeah, but my entire human upbringing is yelling ‘bury the dead.’ Feels unnatural otherwise.”_

Keith considers it. Decides he makes a good point. Dead people being aboveground is uncanny. Especially a dead Lotor. Keith can’t shake the feeling that he’d just get up and walk.

They both jump when Shiro speaks up.

_“Not that your chatter isn’t amusing but the consensus is that you could just use Red’s fire cannon, if you’re serious about that cremation.”_

They blink at each other.

“Oh, yeah.”

_“Hey, wait,”_ says Lance. _“Should we cremate Honerva with him? Y’know. ‘Cause they’re…”_

Keith shifts. He gives the cockpit an uncertain glance. “Yeah, good point. But we should check with—hey Shiro, can you ask Allura what she wants done with, uh, all this?”

_“Sure, one second.”_

Lance leads them away while they wait for a response. They’ve climbed down to the ground when Shiro says, _“She says whatever you two see fit to do is acceptable to her; she has no opinion. But she says there was another Altean pilot down there and wants to know if he’s still alive. She says it might help sway Kir to our side.”_

Keith slaps a fist on his palm. “Right. That one got a clean cut at the abdomen; he didn’t explode. We’ll check it out. It’s probably going to be awhile until we’re back aboard.”

_“That’s fine, we’re not in any rush.”_

“Alright, see you later.”

_“Stay safe. Atlas, out.”_

Keith exhales and starts towards their lions. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They find the other Altean pilot alive and relatively unharmed. He’s got a couple cracked bones in non-vital areas, so no internal bleeding. They stick him in one of the emergency cryopods in Black, and head back to take care of the other part of the unofficial mission.

By the time Lotor and Honerva have been sufficiently cremated, Keith is sagging in Black’s seat. He stares sightlessly at the feed fixated on the Sincline’s cockpit. Nothing but smoke rises from it now. Keith hopes that’ll be enough.

_“Dude, are you okay?”_ Lance frowns at him from the screen. _“Looking kinda pale there. Are you dying?”_

“I think I just.” Keith squeezes his eyes shut and open. “Hit my head too hard when we separated?”

_“Alright, I’m assuming command,”_ Lance announces. _“You’ve been compromised.”_

“Usurped by my own partner,” Keith jokes. “Ah, betrayal. Mutiny.”

Lance ignores him. _“My first order as leader: we are to return to the Atlas immediately, whereupon you will spend the night in the medbay and do everything the medics tell you to.”_

Red gets to his feet and pads over to nudge Black up.

Keith groans. He’s reasonably certain it’s more Black than him piloting when she obliges Red and sets a course for Oriande’s exit. “Me? I think you mean all of us.”

_“I don’t think you’re in any position to give commands.”_

“You’re the idiot that tried to take on the Sincline by yourself.”

_“Would you just get a move on, mister concussion?”_

Keith shakes his head, fondly. He immediately regrets it because his sight goes all wonky. “Okay, yeah. I need to lie down.”

The flight to the Atlas is uneventful and quick. He allows the medics to clamber inside Black’s mouth for the Altean, communicating entirely through comms about the exact environment he and Lance found the pilot in and what Black’s preliminary scans revealed. After they’re gone, he sends a message to Allura, catching her up on everything.

Then, he slides down in his seat and groans. He doesn’t think he can stand.

“Hey.”

Keith cranes his head back. He blinks upside down at Lance. “What are you doing here?”

“Carrying your ass to medbay, apparently,” Lance answers, looking him over critically. “C’mon, up.”

He slings Keith’s arm over his shoulder and puts his own around Keith’s waist. When they stand, Keith’s legs immediately stop functioning. They wobble precariously. His eyes slide shut; he literally can’t stop them. The space between Lance’s collarbone and neck make a great resting place for his spinning head.

“Whoa, hey.” Lance pats his cheek. “Eyes open, buddy. I got you, but I kinda need you to walk with me, my man.”

“Mmn,” Keith grunts. He peels his eyelids open. “M’kay. I’m good. Let’s go before I fall asleep on you.”

“My number one fantasy,” Lance deadpans.

Keith snorts.

Getting out of Black, stumbling down her mouth-ramp, and traversing through the bowels of the Atlas is a lesson in agony and confusion. But eventually they make it safely to the medbay, where the entire place seems to be on the verge of carefully controlled collapse.

“You know,” says Keith, as they hover by the door, “I think I would feel safer in the stomach of a weblum than in all…that.”

“You’re going in there.”

“Fine. Only if you are, too.”

“Of course I’m going in,” Lance huffs, though he makes no move to. “How else am I going to make sure you don’t run off?”

“Okay, but you’re also going in for your _own_ injuries. Don’t pretend your ribs aren’t bruised.”

Lance gives him a dirty look. “I hate how you know these things even when concussed.”

“I don’t have a concussion. I’m just tired. And you’re breathing weirdly.”

“We’ll see what the medics have to say about that.”

“About your breathing? They’ll say it’s weird.”

“Oh, shut up.”

They hobble over to the nearest medic, who directs them to an empty biobed in the corner. She scribbles down their injuries and symptoms onto separate data tablets by the foot of the bed and tells them someone will be right with them. Keith interprets that as help with arrive within an hour or two and lies prone on the bed.

Lance pokes him. “No sleeping.”

“She didn’t say I couldn’t.” He yawns. “Are you just going to stand there or you going to sit? There’s room.”

Lance settles back against the head. “You have a concussion.”

“She _definitely_ didn’t say that.”

“Well, she will, once she comes back.”

Keith hums. “‘Kay. But until then, I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

“You—” Lance sighs. “Seriously, keeping you alive is a full-time job.”

With his head in his arms and his hair in his face, Keith thinks it’s safe to let a soft, fond smile slip out. “What would I do without you?”

He falls asleep before Lance can reply.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(he dreams of long, gentle fingers

combing through his hair.)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m making everything up as I go. I have no idea what actually happened to ‘Kir’ after she watched Lotor skewer the other pilot. Maybe she died when oriande exploded. But that doesn’t happen in this fic, so I gotta tie up loose ends. Bc that’s what writers are supposed to do (eyes emoji)
> 
> And it didn’t make sense to me that honerva held her end of the bargain/didn’t kill lance. She couldn’t have actually thought allura would ‘join her’ just bc of that, did she? kinda just sounded like she was bsing bc she was totally afraid that allura could kill her, leading me to believe that had someone covered for lance, allura would’ve shanked a witch and the whole thing would be neatly resolved. 
> 
> (also, not to sound salty even though I absolutely am, but allura would never put the life of one person over the good of an entire universe. can’t relate bc I don’t have balls of steel like that but cmon. she’s a freaking born leader. I mean s1 allura deleted her own father’s consciousness for the good of some people she had only gotten to know recently. She knows responsibility. Genesis episode was the closest she’d gotten to honerva, ofc she’d take the shot.)
> 
> Also now allura doesn’t have to die. I am rejecting canon so hard right now I feel so high


	3. we deserve a soft epilogue but if vld won't give it then i will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this seems rushed that's bc it is. i just want to give this to y'all so bad

 

 

 

Keith wouldn’t have expected it, but things actually settle down afterwards.

Now, without the looming threat of an all-powerful enemy, the Coalition is free to resume their central mission: the rescue and liberation of Galra-ruled planets.

The Atlas drops by Olkarion for quick repairs—Ryner gets as excited as Keith has ever seen her, marveling over the Altean and Earth tech—before continuing on to the nearest planet in need. It takes them a month to set everything to rights there. The initial attack and rescue always takes about a day or two; it’s the clean-up that swallows up the majority of time. The weeks are spent healing, holding meetings, rebuilding and replanting, and integrating the standard Coalition defense and communication arrays with the native technology.

Halfway through, Voltron is assigned a mission to the Altean colony.

Kir and the other pilot Vonn, as well as one other Altean recovered from the fight with Atlas, spend an ample amount of time with Romelle, Coran, and Allura. Their guests are rarely seen without one of those three. In fact, they’ve taken to shadowing Allura like an old royal guard, silently observing and listening to every word she says.

“If I’m honest, it worries me,” she confesses to him after dinner one night. “They’re so quick to latch onto a leader.”

“Conditioned,” Keith says grimly. “Lotor, and then Honerva took advantage when he died.”

Allura tries her best. She urges them to learn what they can and form their own opinions. It takes a while before they realize everything she asks of them is a suggestion and not a command.

Coran turns out to be a huge help. He’s a veritable fountain of Altean knowledge and when Allura needs a breather, he runs interference for her. Vonn, in particular, seems fascinated with the stories about Coran’s grandfather.

Oddly, Romelle keeps her distance. She readily gives them her account of the incident that lead to her defection, and answers what questions they have, but otherwise seems uneasy around them. Keith keeps an eye on it, but says nothing.

This all adds up to three Altean colonists, recovering…acceptably well from their brainwashing, considering the circumstances. Three Alteans, who now raise the question of: what will happen to the Altean colony?

So, team Voltron, minus Shiro, find themselves traversing the Quantum Abyss. Mom comes along, because they’d be lost otherwise. And it’d be good to show that there are rebel Galra out there.

The mission goes surprisingly okay. It’s almost like any other liberation effort, getting everyone up to speed on current galactic events. Granted, with more angry bewilderment and disbelief. At least the colony doesn’t have advanced weapons to wave around threateningly—just farming tools.

Lotor really did keep these guys under a leash. Jeez.

They decide to move the colony.

Living in the Quantum Abyss isn’t really conducive to trade, or the establishment of your presence on an intergalactic scale. And since Allura is the Altean princess and unofficial leader of the Coalition, she needs her homeworld to be on said scale.

The logistics of transporting the colony are hashed out, and Voltron sends word to the Atlas to drop by when they can. In the meantime, Coran and Romelle comb through the galaxies for the perfect place to set up a new Altea.

All in all, a very successful mission.

Keith thinks the future is looking much more promising.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**One year and four months later:**

 

 

 

“Keith!” Pidge exclaims. “You’re back!”

He opens his arms and she jumps right into them. He stumbles, air leaving his lungs in a whoosh. Laughing, he spins her around once and sets her on her feet.

“Wow, how long was I gone? You’re all grown up, now.” Keith draws a line from the top of her head to his chin. “I swear it’s only been two months.”

She rolls her eyes. “Haha. You make this joke every time. You know I’m not getting any taller.”

Keith ruffles her hair and she swats at him. “So, where is everybody? How are you guys doing?”

“We’re good. Same old stuff, really.”

Pidge leads him further into the Garrison. You’d think nothing could change all that much in two months but Keith’s already doing double takes at the new fixtures here and there.

“I heard Coran finally gave into Allura’s request,” he prods. He’s been eager to hear some news since Mom and Kolivan told him he could go home. “And Hunk keeps getting name-dropped everywhere I go?”

Pidge laughs. “Oh yeah. Coran couldn’t deny the promotion anymore when two-thirds of the Coalition leaders kept asking him to sit in on their meetings whenever Allura couldn’t make it. And since he can officially sign off on Coalition business on Allura’s behalf now, she has way more time to manage New Altea. I think she’s a lot more happier this way. Even if Coran keeps saying it’s ‘outrageous’ that he outranks her.

“As for Hunk, it’s probably because he finally published his research on the Atlas’ and the MFE’s schematics in relation to Altean magic. It’s been driving engineers across the galaxy absolutely wild. And then he took a break and went on Vrepit Sal’s cooking show as a judge. It was for fun but now I think he’s opening a restaurant soon. Don’t know how he’s going to balance that with being head engineer. The Garrison engineering team keep dangling cool but strange prototypes at him; I think they’re worried he’s going to jump ship. So, yeah. He’s basically a household name in multiple circles.”

Keith whistles. “Damn.”

“Mhm. If I wasn’t getting an exclusive mentorship with Ryner, I would be so jealous of all the cool stuff he’s been doing.”

A group of cadets approach from the opposite way. They snap out salutes to Pidge and him, which the two of them return with nods. He tries not to find it too amusing that the kids immediately start whispering furiously the moment they pass, stars in their eyes. Especially since Pidge is probably only 4 years older than them.

“Did you just get back from Olkarion, then?” he asks.

She nods. “Actually just landed an hour before you did. Cut it kinda close; Mom was ready to steal a ship to find me. Again. This is like the tenth time.”

“Well, when three-fourths of her family have been abducted in the span of three years…” Keith shrugs then smirks. “Plus, you’re like nine, so.”

Pidge pinches his side. He winces. “Have you been talking to Lance? I think his awful jokes are rubbing off on you.”

“Speaking of, how is he? Last I heard, he was on rotation as Garrison instructor for the intro classes.”

“I think that was until a couple weeks ago. Allura says he’s been helping out at home ever since.”

Keith frowns. “Did something happen to his parents? Are they sick?”

“No, I think he’s just taking a break.” Pidge adjusts her glasses, flashing a smirk. “Maybe he finally got tired of his adoring masses.”

Keith hums, unconvinced. “Is he still coming to the dinner at least?”

“Oh yeah. I sent him a reminder and he sent back like, thirty emojis. I forwarded it to my team on Olkari; see how long it takes them to ‘decode’ it.”

“You’re devious.”

“It keeps them on their toes. Anyway—” Pidge comes to a stop in front of some non-descript doors— “here are your quarters. We got them refurbished while you were away. Don’t worry, your stuff is still in storage. No one’s touched anything.”

“Thank you,” Keith says solemnly. “I was so worried about my mismatched pairs of socks and the tootsie pop I found on the floor once.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Hey, you’re the one who still hasn’t put up a permanent place of residence here. Or gotten any personal effects beyond a toothbrush.”

“Eh, I’ll get around to it.”

“That’s what you said when we finally got back to Earth. But you spent four months in this exact room, and then left the moment Krolia said something-something-mission.”

He has to hand it to her, she’s not wrong.

“It’s fine,” he says. He presses a hand to the scanner and the doors slide open. He walks in, tossing his duffel by the foot of the bed. “I’ll probably head out again, anyway.”

Pidge groans, leaning up against the doorway. “Please tell me it’s not anytime soon. We can’t keep an eye on you out there.”

He gives her a flat look over his shoulder. “You know I have an actual mother now, right? Like, it’s hard enough getting her to let me do missions without her, it’s like she thinks I’m still the kid she left on Earth sometimes. You guys really don’t need to worry.”

“Tell that to Lance,” Pidge grumbles.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Dinner at six, okay? Don’t be late!” And with that, she’s off.

Keith blinks at the closed door.

Weird.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He takes a quick nap. When he wakes, he literally groans for a full minute; the bed did wonders on his back. The Blade may be rising from the ashes, better than before, but they still have no idea what mattresses are.

He checks the clock and finds he still has two hours until he needs to show up at the statue. He thinks about going back to sleep, but he can feel the grit at the back of his knees, so he gets up to take a shower. And if he spends a ridiculous amount of time with his head bent, letting the hot water beat down on his back? He thinks he’s earned it.

Back in the room, he digs through his duffel for appropriate clothing. The team isn’t a fancy bunch, so he can get away with some casual clothes. The outfit he pulls out is new, in the sense that it was part of the team-wide gift—new sets of clothing in an Altean style—that Allura gave him months ago, but that he never got the chance to wear. This should be as good of a time as any.

He slips it on and smooths his palms over the shirt, the jacket. Bends his legs to feel the pants bunch at his knees and pull at his waist. It feels strange after all that weeks in uniform. He can’t tell if it’s a good strange or not.

He checks the time. Thirty-five minutes have passed.

Okay. Time to find something to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wandering around the base is out of the question. He already knows the layout passably well, even considering the renovations. Plus, he’s not in the mood to get mobbed by bright-eyed cadets and well-meaning commanders.

Only one place to go.

The hanger is cold. A big, wide open space with air drafts that won’t stop sneaking up his shirt.

Black sits tall before him, as regal as ever. A grin stretches across his face at the sight of her. God, he didn’t think he’d miss this so much.

“Hey, girl. Long time no see.”

Her eyes flash. In a rush of air, she sets her jaw onto the floor. The door opens for him.

“Eager to stretch your wings, huh?” He pats her mouth on the way in. “Me, too.”

He kills some time going over her systems, doing pre-flight checks and maintenance scans until the lion herself gets antsy. He laughs when she shuts down all the extraneous screens and shoves the controls at him.

“Alright, alright. Message received. Let me just tell ground control that we’re heading out.” He toggles a switch. “Ground control, this is Keith, paladin of the Black Lion, requesting take off. Over.”

A pause. Then, _“Please confirm: this is Commander Keith requesting flight with the Black lion?”_

“Affirmative.”

Keith thinks he hears a faint ‘holy shit’ but he can’t be sure.

_“You are cleared for take off, sir. Have a nice flight.”_

“Thanks. Will do.” The comms click off and Keith shakes his head. “Never gonna get used to that.”

Black just rumbles warmly. The hanger doors start moving, a sliver of flat land and blue sky emerging between them. And he should really wait until it’s fully opened but Black is practically vibrating his seat and honestly, it’s not like he hasn’t done this before.

It’s so incredibly easy to move the controls the way he wants—they slip through the gap with barely a foot of space on each side—and Keith whoops because suddenly they’re _out._

They shoot up into the clouds, diving into the atmosphere and Keith _missed this,_ holy god.

He and his lion soar, the sky under their feet. He leads Black into flips and turns, gets her to loop the Garrison thrice in under a second. He gets as high as he can without leaving the stratosphere and cuts the engines, leans back in his seat and free-falls, right until the last second where he pulls out of it. The g-force is hell; his lungs protest, but still he grins. Black roars with him.

After he’s done terrifying anyone watching him, he flies over to a familiar landing spot: a place just over a cliff, facing the west.

It’s still early in the afternoon, so there’s only the flat horizon to see when he settles down on Black’s head. The wind circles him, ruffling his jacket up around his waist. It pushes his hair every which way until he has to close his eyes, for fear of getting them mauled by his own hair.

“Maybe I should cut it,” he muses.

“Cut what?” Lance asks.

Keith jumps—he does _not_ shriek (but maybe he does yell). _“Shit,_ Lance, seriously? What the fuck.”

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? Make some noise or something, don’t just sneak up on me like that.”

Lance flops down next to him with a pout. “But you usually hear me anyways. I live for the moments where you don’t; it’s so much fun to see you scream.”

It should be weird that after two months away they don’t even pause to exchange pleasantries. Instead, it just feels natural. Like taking off right where they left, friendly banter barely-concealed as insults.

Yeah, he’s missed this.

“I did not scream,” he protests.

“You did a little.”

Keith pushes at Lance’s face. “What are you even doing here anyway?”

“I was in the area,” Lance says, words muffled under Keith’s palm. He doesn’t move away, just stares with his eyebrows raised until Keith gives up first. “Talked to some kids about being a paladin. The usual. Saw you trying to give Iverson and Shiro multiple heart attacks. Decided to interrupt your regularly scheduled brooding. Now, what did you say about cutting something?”

“Thinking about getting a haircut.” Keith fingers the ends of his bangs. “Getting kind of long; I keep having to tie it up.”

“Tie it up? It’s long enough for that?” Lance eyes his hair critically.

Keith demonstrates.

“Huh,” is all Lance says. He reaches out.

Keith holds perfectly still; doesn’t even breathe, as Lance cards his fingers through the ponytail. Gentle tugs, repetitive, like he’s—fucking _marveling_ over the feel of it.

“Dude,” says Lance. “Dude, no, you can’t cut this.”

“That’s a surprise. I thought you wanted my mullet gone.”

“Well, not now that it passes for regular long hair! It was an awkward length before.” Lance tugs purposefully at it; Keith’s chin goes tipping up. He coughs. “You can style it now. Braids and stuff.”

“That’s so much work,” Keith grouses.

“Fine, I’ll do it. Turn around.”

“Wait, what—”

Lance doesn’t wait for him, shuffling around to his back. He sits with his legs on either side of Keith, thighs to Keith’s sides. His warmth burns through and shudders ripple right up Keith’s spine.

“Hold still.” Lance nudges Keith’s jaw up, leaving trails of warmth there, too. Keith feels dizzy. “What do you want, fishtail? French?”

“Are those supposed to mean something to me?”

“What _style_ do you want, dumbass?” Lance asks, exasperated. He’s combing through the hair, and the scratches of his nails leave Keith’s brain fizzling.

“I. I don’t know, just. Something—something normal?”

“Oh, so you’re a basic bitch.”

“I will throw you off here.”

“Not if I do this,” Lance singsongs, and then wraps his legs around Keith’s waist, effectively trapping him in his lap. He even shifts in closer, the muscles of his inner thighs tightening against Keith. “I’ll take you down with me.”

“What the fuck,” Keith asks the sky.

Lance just hums and continues to do whatever it is he’s doing with Keith’s hair. It feels great. Keith hates that he never wants it to stop.

He definitely needs to chop his hair off. He can’t be carting around a weakness like this.

Thankfully—or not, depending on whether you ask Keith’s logic or his emotions—it doesn’t take long for Lance to finish. He leans back, probably to take it in, and makes a satisfied noise.

“You have really nice hair,” Lance sighs, “and you don’t even condition.”

Keith grunts. He waits for Lance to move away, but all he does is slide his legs off Keith’s lap. Keith feels knees brushing against his back—like Lance is sitting cross-legged now—and then he drops his chin onto Keith’s shoulder.

Keith opens his mouth. Closes it. Struggles between throwing himself away or sinking back into Lance’s chest.

“This okay?” Lance asks, soft and quiet and right up against Keith’s ear, what the _fuck_.

Keith makes a vague agreeing sound. It’s all he can manage.

After a few agonizing minutes of them just sitting silently, he blurts out, “How’s Allura?”

“She’s great,” Lance answers easily. “Why?”

“Just. Just checking in. You guys are, uh, good and everything?”

“Yeah, sure?”

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?”

 _Because you’re here cuddling me like I’m her_ , Keith think-screams. He coughs. “Well, she’s away a lot on the new colony.”

“That’s true. She still sends us messages, though, so it’s not like she’s gone.”

“O-okay.” Keith can’t fucking _think_ , Lance just shuffled in closer like he’s getting comfortable—his fucking nose is practically buried behind Keith’s ear. “Uh. I’m surprised you aren’t the clingy type.”

Lance scoffs. “How dare you accuse me of—wait.”

Keith catches himself falling back when Lance scuttles out from behind him. He blinks, bemused, as Lance crouches in front of him, gripping him by the shoulders.

“You,” says Lance. He stops to consider something. “Could you answer me one thing?”

“Uh, okay?”

“What do you think,” he says slowly, “is going on between me and Allura?”

Keith squints. Is this a trick question? “You guys…are dating.”

“Okay.” Lance nods. “One more thing. Did I never tell you how our first date went?”

“No.” And thank god for that, it would’ve been torture.

Lance bobs his head a couple times. Then he breathes out, excruciatingly slow. He drops his head, the crown of it almost touching Keith’s chest.

“This makes so much sense,” Lance mutters. “I could’ve sworn I told you.”

Keith hesitantly pats his back.

Lance lifts his head, fixing Keith with a purposeful look. “Allura and I are not together,” he announces.

“Oh,” Keith says sadly. “I’m sorry. When did you guys break up?”

“No—” Lance slaps his forehead. “Dude, we never—we weren’t anything. The night I asked her out, I took her to meet my parents and then we went for a walk, but that was it. You seriously never knew?”

“I—no.” Keith feels like he’s blue-screening. This isn’t computing for him. Allura and Lance? Not together? But he thought—for _a year_ and some months, he thought… “I had no idea.”

Lance sits back, folding his arms over his chest. He frowns at Keith thoughtfully. “Just to be clear, you were operating under this assumption for all that time we spent liberating planets?”

“Yeah.”

“And then even when we came home? Even when you left for the Blade?”

Keith nods mutely.

“Jesus.” Lance blows out a breath. “Keith, I—me and her, we didn’t even act any different. No PDA or anything. Why would you—?”

“I assumed you were both private people,” Keith defends. “I didn’t think to jump to the conclusion that she rejected you.”

“You didn’t?” Lance asks, surprised. He scowls. “Hold up, she did not reject me. There was no rejecting going on. _I_ decided we were better off friends.”

Now it’s Keith who’s surprised. “ _You_ —? Why? You’ve been in love with her since the beginning.”

“Yeah, but…” Lance sighs. “I had a lot of time to think things over, in between everything that happened. Re-examine my feelings and shit. Especially with her and, uh, Lotor. And then you came back with news about the colony, and the war got more and more dangerous, and then I got that weird suitor talk with Coran…”

He rubs a hand over his head. “And then that talk with you.”

“Me?”

“It just all culminated to this realization I had.” Lance taps his chest. “I still really liked her, but after considering who I was and what I could offer, like you said, I knew it was better to be her close friend than her boyfriend. Because the one thing I wanted to do for her was to support her; she just seemed so alone. But that’s something I can do as her teammate. ‘Cause like, from a farther distance away, I don’t have to stress about watching myself. About making sure I was always acting like a partner a princess—a queen—would be proud to have.”

“She would be,” Keith argues. “I told you, you’re fine the way you are. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Especially Allura.”

Lance’s expression is inscrutable. “So you’ve said.”

“Just, please tell me you didn’t give up on her because you think you weren’t worth it.”

“It’s like you didn’t hear a word I said.” Lance props his chin onto his palm. “Didn’t I say your whole supportive speech thing was part of why I decided on this? You helped me realize what was best for all of us.”

“It was supposed to help you win her over, actually.”

“Well, it accomplished something better.”

Keith looks at his hands. He’s—he wants Lance happy and this…how did he miss this? “You’re sure.”

“I am,” Lance assures him. Maybe he can tell Keith isn’t convinced, because he continues, “Look, I took her to dinner and I watched her laugh. I cracked jokes and pulled out her chair and did everything you’re supposed to do on a date.

“And while I did it, all I could think about was how we were heading back to the frontlines the next day. The girl of my dreams was in front of me and instead my mind was on a war. I thought about how I couldn’t die, because then my nephew—sitting at the table next to ours—he wouldn’t ever be safe. Because my niece still wants to be an astronaut, even after the takeover, and I would be an awful uncle if I didn’t try to make the universe a little bit safer for them both.”

“Lance…”

“I know myself,” he continues. “And I know it would’ve drained me, if I decided to devote myself to Allura. I had responsibilities and she did, too. And we were in the middle of a war; that’s like, the worst time to latch onto someone.”

And that, Keith can understand. It’s been his argument for not telling Lance how he felt for, oh, about two years now.

“So.” Lance spreads his hands. “I’ve explained everything. Do these decisions meet your approval, my leader?”

Keith huffs, pinking. “I’m trying to look out for you, dumbass.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

“Well—good,” says Keith, floundering. Why is Lance looking at him like that? “If you’re happy, then that’s good.”

“What about you? Are you happy?” Lance asks, his voice gone intent all of a sudden.

 _No_ , is Keith’s immediate thought. He forcibly amends it, because everything is fixed and better and peaceful and no one’s in danger of dying anymore, so yes, he’s generally happier these days.

“Yes,” he says.

“Okay,” replies Lance, sounding like he knows Keith is lying. Which he isn’t. And Lance couldn’t know if he was, anyway.

Right? He’s not that easy to read.

“I’ve been thinking of farming,” Lance announces, completely out of the blue. For a moment, Keith thinks someone else spoke, like an invisible farmer ghost with bad timing.

“You. Have been thinking about farms. Farming,” Keith repeats. “Like, cows?”

“Yes,” says Lance, unhelpfully. “And maybe juniberries.”

Keith nods. Waits to see if any of this will make sense now. “Yeah, no. I need more information than this.”

“I’m saying I want to get into farming,” Lance says patiently. “Like become a farmer. With cows. But mostly juniberries, because they look pretty and it’d help out with Altean culture conservation efforts.”

Keith drops his head in his hands.

“Dude?”

“Give me a—a damn second,” Keith begs. “Please. You are dropping too many revelations on me, man. First, I find out I’ve been wrong about something for longer than a year. And now this. My head is—it’s got holes. It feels leaky, I don’t know.”

Lance laughs. Full-bodied and loud. “Sorry,” he gasps. “You’re right, this is a lot, huh. You’re the last to know, though.”

Keith peeks out behind his fingers. “Really?”

He thinks, _you told people you were farming, and no one said how completely out of left-field that is? I_ can’t _be the only one who’s weirded out by this._

“So, what, uh, what brought you to this—” Keith waves his hand— “idea?”

“You know how I’m off rotation right now? Well, I wanted a vacation because—don’t get me wrong, teaching’s great—but it’s been kind of boring around here. I don’t get to take Red out much. So then I go home and my parents own a farm, right, and I just…yeah.”

“Oh.” That clarifies nothing. Keith hopes Lance isn’t pulling a fast one on him again. Actually, no, he really wants Lance to be joking.

Unless he really has found a passion in farming.

In that case...Keith needs to be a good friend about this.

“That…sounds great,” he says lamely.

But because it’s Lance, or maybe because Keith has been fooling himself this entire time, thinking he’s not damnably transparent, the lie gets clocked immediately.

“You don’t think I should do it?” Lance asks.

“I…”

“You can tell me the truth. You know I value your opinion.” The guy’s face is giving nothing away.

Keith bites his lip.

Okay. It’s not like farming is bad, or boring. He’s heard enough to know the practice is more demanding than most people think, and personally, he believes it takes skill to understand the demands of an organism that can’t tell you what it needs. Keith sometimes can’t even help the people who _are_ able to tell him.

But he just. Wasn’t expecting this from _Lance_. From the boy who took to flying just as instinctively as Keith. The boy who fought harder than anyone else to get into the Garrison, the one that took Keith’s spot, out of the entire candidate pool. The boy who has flown two lions, who saved an underwater society while stranded on a strange planet, who went from a cadet wet behind the ears, to the second-in-command of a galactic symbol of peace.

And honestly…

Truthfully, he thought he’d get Lance as his second again someday. Wishful thinking, he knows, but it’s the only thing that’s been on his mind since…well, since he first left for the Blade.

He _likes_ it, having Lance at his back. It had felt like coming home, when he took up the mantle of the Black paladin and Lance was there on his right, again. And then it felt wrong, when they all found new paths, and Lance had stayed on Earth while Keith left for space.

And like before, Keith had found himself missing something—a lot of things, but mostly just one thing. A Lance thing. And he can’t lie, when he landed a couple hours ago, he’d thought about asking Lance to go on the next mission with him, just for old time’s sake. Thought about asking if he’d want to _keep_ going on missions after that. About being partners again. Whether that would be in an official capacity or not would be up to Lance, but Keith would’ve been satisfied to just have him… _there_ , with him. He thought he’d get that much, if he couldn’t have Lance as anything else.

 

(as anything _more_.)

 

Lance is still waiting for him, wearing a careful look.

For a beat, Keith considers lying.

He imagines saying that he thinks Lance should absolutely get into farming. He’d tell Lance what he wants to hear, because maybe Lance will be disappointed if he doesn’t. Maybe he’ll frown and cut ties with Keith, sick of the way he can never say the right thing. He imagines showing support for this venture, of watching Lance smile at him, pleased. And of the years that pass after that, imagines their email exchanges tapering off, so slowly that Keith doesn’t realize it until too late: that a farmer and a solider, separated by a million galaxies and all the things unsaid, are too far out of orbit to keep up with each other.

He imagines Lance wiping sweat from his brow. Sees in his mind, how Lance would lean on a shovel, watching his land with world-weary eyes. He tries to imagine that Lance would be happy like that.

 _Would_ Lance be happy?

 

(he doesn’t bother thinking about how this would affect his own happiness.)

(he already knows.)

 

Keith considers lying.

But it’s an easy decision to discard the idea. He doesn’t want to be dishonest, and Lance would suss him out anyway.

“I don’t think it would fit you,” Keith admits quietly, ruefully. He meets Lance’s gaze, head-on, because they both deserve nothing less. “Sorry.”

He waits.

Lance narrows his eyes. And then he says—

He says, “Oh, thank god.”

Keith officially gives up, right there. He’s done. This conversation has screwed with his head more than anything he’s experienced in the last year.

“What do you mean, ‘thank god,’” he groans, falling onto his back. “Do you want to farm or not?!”

“I don’t!” Lance yells joyously. He laughs, throws his arms up, his head back. “I don’t want to farm at all, Keith!”

“Jesus Christ,” Keith tells the clouds and a passing bird. “What is going on.”

“What’s going on,” Lance answers, grinning so wide, “is that I’ve been lying to everyone and myself about fucking _farming_ , and _you_ are the only one who has called me on my bullshit.”

“Of course it’s bullshit,” Keith shouts. “In what universe would _you_ farm?”

“I know! Insane, right?” Lance laughs again. If he keeps rolling around on Black like that, he’s going to topple right off.

Keith just lies there, thoroughly exhausted. God, this was worse than that time he got stuck between the teeth of a giant fish-monster and Kolivan had to get a tree branch and basically toothpick him out.

Finally, Lance calms down, rolling to a stop beside Keith.

“Explain,” Keith orders. “Or I will legally have to kill you, for obstruction of truth. And mind-torture.”

“I don’t think you said that right,” Lance informs him. “But since I am a law-abiding citizen, I will do as you ask. Even though you aren’t like, an actual cop.”

“Lance.”

“Fine, fine. See, it was a joke at first.”

“Okay…”

“I was talking to my mom, you know. About taking a break, maybe help around the farm. I’m expecting her to tell me ‘hell no’ but she just smiles and says I’d be good at it. I’m not, Keith, I’m really not. I broke a shovel the first time I touched one when I was seven. I can milk a cow, but it took me like, two months before I could get them to stop freaking out around me. So running an entire farm? That’s just a disaster. And Mom knew that. Like, I think she was being supportive, but I—it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, you know?”

Keith nods.

“Right, so. I start mentioning it offhandedly to people, and they all…kept agreeing with me?” Lance shakes his head. “And the more they agreed the more I began to think that maybe farming was all I really could do? And it sucked because I started getting flashbacks to these stupid bullies at school that used to say that, ‘cause their parents were lawyers and shit, but mine were farmers. And did you know I left for the Garrison because of that? I wanted to be _more.”_

“You are,” Keith says, automatically, truthfully. “You’re more than you know. You need to stop putting yourself down, dude.”

Lance reaches for his hand, and it’s so natural just to link their fingers together. Lance gives him a squeeze. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. Like, I appreciate people supporting me, but you’re the only one that ever tells me _‘no, do better.’_ You keep pushing me to another level that I’ve never thought about taking. I was always running after you because of it, you know.”

“Oh,” says Keith. He tries not to feel too smug. They’re having a moment.

“Anyway, you were gone,” Lance continues, “so there was no one around to argue with me and I kept talking about how I’d go around doing it, because maybe then they’d see I knew nothing about running a farm. But no one said anything. They just, were so supportive that it made my skin crawl and I would run out of the house by ten in the morning. Do you know how annoying it is, Keith, to not have a place to rest? To just wander for the entire day, kicking at rocks? Because it is. So. Annoying.”

“Come with me,” Keith’s mouth says. He slaps a hand over it. Shit.

“What?”

“N’thin’. D’in’ say ‘ny’thin’.”

“Keith.” Lance gets on his elbow, dragging Keith’s hand with him. “Come with you where?”

Keith stubbornly refuses to speak. For about seven seconds, and then Lance pulls out the Sad Eyebrows. “Okay, fine! Jeez, stop that. I was just, you know, thinking.”

“About?”

“Things,” he hedges.

Lance leans in, expectant. “Like?”

“Like…”

Why are they lying down like this? Lance is hovering over him like some sort of—his mouth, shit, his entire…everything, is way too close. Keith can’t fucking—operate. What the fuck.

“Iwasthinkingyoucouldbemypartner,” he says in a rush.

Lance frowns. “Sorry, I don’t think I caught that. Could you…”

Keith throws his arm over his eyes. “It’s dumb. I know you got stuff to do.”

“Keith, will you just spit it out, you gigantic infant?”

“I don’t know why I even like you enough to ask,” Keith mutters.

“You…like me?” Lance whispers, sounding like Keith just brained him with a two-by-four.

Keith bolts straight up. “Wait, no.”

“No?” Lance’s face falls.

“No, yes,” Keith clutches at their hands—which are still joined for some unfathomable, amazing reason—as if Lance is going to stomp away. He still might, because Keith is fucking this up so well. “I like you. Yes. Shit. I didn’t mean to say it.”

“You didn’t?” Lance still looks vulnerable. Not good. “Why not?”

Fuck. He’s going to have to confess. Like with purpose. He can’t leave Lance hanging like this; self-esteem issues, the guy has them. Keith’s not an asshole.

“I,” he begins. He licks his lips. “Fuck. Okay, so I was trying to—to ask you if you maybe wanted to, um. Like, if you want, you could—missions, you know?”

Lance stares at him.

“Oh my god.” Keith squeezes his eyes shut. Why is this so hard. He’s killed a man before—many mans. Shit. He exhales. Okay. He can do this. He opens his eyes.

“You don’t want to farm,” he tells Lance.

“No,” says Lance, slowly. “I don’t.”

Keith nods. “I want you on missions with me again. I wanted to ask if that’s something you—”

“Yes.”

“—want. Because I really miss—”

“Me too.”

“—it—would you stop interrupting me?” Keith hisses. “I am so unbelievably stressed right now.”

“Right, sorry.” Lance mimes his lips shut.

“Okay.” Keith pinches the bridge of his nose. “Where was I?”

Lance makes a couple hand-signs.

“Right, thanks. Missions. I need you as my partner. I do better with you. Also, if you become a farmer, then Shiro is straight.”

Lance chokes, but dutifully says nothing.

“And I didn’t think I was ever going to say it, or if I would, that it wouldn’t go like this, but. But. I guess…I guess I may also, uh, possibly like you. A little bit.”

He waits.

“Oh, you can talk now.”

“Awesome,” says Lance. “So, you like me.”

Keith twitches. “Ye-es.”

“You like me and you want me as your partner,” Lance states. Pauses. “Probably like in the romantic sense and in the literal sense.”

“I—” Keith gapes. “Sure. Fuck. Sure, okay.”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” Keith parrots. “Yes to what? Which part? What are you yes-ing to?”

“Both parts,” Lance declares. “All the parts. Every part—I want whatever part you want to give me.”

“I want to give you everything,” Keith says helplessly.

Lance beams. “Awesome.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keith thinks they’re together now. He’s pretty sure they are. Maybe he’ll verify later because currently he’s gone kind of dumb and doesn’t really feel like doing anything else other than lying here with Lance’s arms like bands around him and Lance’s smile buried in Keith’s braided hair.

Yeah, thinking later. Living now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner comes. The team takes one look at them—Keith’s messed up braid, Lance’s shit-eating grin—and then Allura, Coran, Pidge, and Hunk are slapping money into Shiro’s waiting palm.

“I hate this family,” Keith says.

Lance kisses him on the cheek.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and THAT my friends is the end. [tuxedo mask voice] my work here is done.
> 
>  
> 
> and as always, i will literally write more fic if you leave comments and kudos. <33333
> 
>  
> 
> [come yell at me about klance on tumblr](http://hiuythn.tumblr.com/)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hiuythn)


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